What will I ever know of what you are—
What in you gave up nights of rest,
What you saw about me
So worth giving up
the better for you
for the best for me?
Leisure time scratched out by
A trip to the park,
Prestige in the ER,
To be my doctor,
To write love with a feather-stroke touch
on a bruised head,
raw knees,
a thousand bee-stings,
and a stabbed back.
A chance for a manicure, a new dress,
Traded in for candy bars and toy horses,
A night at the movies
For a theatrical production of
Polly Pockets and Playdough.
When I boarded the plane for college—
A smile for me
Instead of the tears that would make me stay.
I think I recall
that you said once or so,
“I’m not beautiful,
It’s you that shines”—
I must wonder how anyone
Other than a swan
Could give the world a cygnet like me,
As you say that you have.
[This is a post long over-due. My apologies, readers. Summer pulled me along willy-nilly, and I've barely done anything on my computer other than briefly checking emails and Facebook. But I am back.]
